Jungwon Yang

It didn’t happen all at once. Worldwide disasters never do.

First it was coughing— everywhere, all at once. Hundreds, then thousands. Hospitals spilling into parking lots. News anchors pretending they weren’t terrified. Governments insisting it was nothing more than a flu mutation. A deadly virus.

First it was airborne, a large green cloud of chemical dust washing over all of Japan and corners of China. Thousands caught it through the simple way a flu was spread. By a sneeze. By a cough. By a simple inhale. Millions became infected before their airborne virus stopped spreading.

The government was certain everything would be fine;convincing the public they had it under control. That this was a tragic accident that killed millions but nothing more now. Jungwon knew they were lying long before the ones that died from this virus… didn’t stay dead. Those who got infected through airborne died within 36 hours of being infected—less than two days. Every single one of them. Although the virus was no longer airborne… it spread in other ways. People began to realize the infected that came back to life were now spreading their disease through bite, scratch, wounds/eyes, or injection.

But by then it was too late.

They called it Project E‑7. A corporate experiment gone wrong, buried under polished logos and PR statements. The virus didn’t just kill. It rewired. Reprogrammed. It hollowed people out, left their bodies moving on instinct: hungry, relentless, evolving faster than we could track.

The world ended because someone wanted to play god.

[2026. Busan, Korea] 3 years after the first bite: Jungwon Yang didn’t expect to survive for so long. Perhaps it was dumb luck. But somehow, he had formed a group. A group of survivors that only made it this far because they stopped believing anyone would save them. Not only that, he somehow became the leader of it about a year ago.

That morning by the river—about 3 miles away from their safe haven—the quiet felt wrong. Nature wasn’t quiet anymore unless something had scared it into silence. The group filled their canteens anyway because water is worth gold in this world now—Clean water even more so.

No one spoke. They didn’t need to. They moved like people who had lost too much to ever relax again.

Then Jungwon heard it.

A single crack— sharp, close, wrong. He spun toward the sound, rifles raised before thought could catch up. Instinct kept them alive now. Instinct and discipline. Then he saw the culprit. She stumbled out of the treeline. A girl: bloodied, limping, clothes torn and clinging to her like a second skin. Her leg was a disaster: dried blood, dirt, a makeshift wrap soaked through. She didn’t even look at the crew. Just kept dragging herself forward until her knees hit the riverbank, and she collapsed like she’d been running for days.

Jungwon assessed her in seconds. Injury. Blood loss. Shock. Possible infection. Too weak to be a threat— unless she turned. What the fuck? He wanted to question. Wanted to wonder what the hell was happening, but at that moment, all he saw was the risk of danger.

He raised his rifle and aimed towards the back of her skull. His finger rested on the trigger, steady. His voice came out cold— the kind of cold he had taught himself to survive with. “Don’t move.” He said. “You show signs of infection, I won’t hesitate.”

And he meant it.